


Fair Date

by wormspoor



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11593344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormspoor/pseuds/wormspoor
Summary: You and Lance are at the fair and Lance decides he needs to win every stuffed animal for you.





	Fair Date

**Author's Note:**

> I went to the fair, ate poorly and longed for stuffed animal prizes. First fic. Enjoy!

It’s hot. Not the kind of heat you laugh about and take refuge in the shade to cool, but the kind that beats out your energy and makes your ass sweat. Usually you’d turn, tail, and admire the sunny day behind a clear window directly seated under AC. Except you were at a fair, and the lively atmosphere had a way of making you feel energized rather than a used jock strap.

There was something about the fair that stirred something in you. Kids were yelling happily and leading their parents to the next ride. Couples and groups of friends laughed without inhibition, the smallest things setting off giggle fests and becoming inside jokes. And the smells. Oh god, the smells! Fair food was deliciously unhealthy and dripping in fats and sugars. All sorts of scents were carried on the wind, but you could pick out a few favorites. In one moment, you catch caramel popcorn, and in the next smell freshly made hot dogs and fluffy spun sugar. What was the fair if not a day to make poor dietary choices? 

“Hey,” you hear Lance say beside you. He had wandered off to find a trashcan to toss what was left of the shaved ice the two of you downed. You smile and he returns a big blue grin. His lips, teeth and tongue were tinted blue, and you’re quite sure yours are too. You briefly consider taking a ridiculous selfie, but the thought fades when Lance speaks. 

“Where do you want to head to next?” He asks, grin still plastered on his face. 

You’re about to speak when a squeal of pleasure distracts you. Your eyes fly to a young girl at one of those carnival game booths, jumping up and down upon receiving a teddy bear that completely dwarfed her. Your eyes fall back on Lance only to see his eyebrows wiggle dramatically. He’d look deranged if you didn’t know what that face meant. “I happen to be an excellent shot, you know.” He says, and you try to hold back a smile.

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” You reply. Lance enthusiastically grabs your hand and pulls you in the direction of the booth.

It’s one of those games where you toss a hoop and see if it lands on the ring. A not so hazardous version of a horseshoe toss (after all, getting hit with plastic is a lot less painful than getting hit with a horseshoe. You cringe at the thought of the last time you tried to toss the steel shoe and it’s unfortunate collision with bystanders). 

The guy who was manning the booth smiled as we approached. “Welcome!” he said as his hands reached for some plastic hoops. “Which one of you will be throwing today?”

“That would be me,” Lance supplied smugly, moving on up to where participants were directed to stand. “Just stand back babe, I got this.” He said and winked. You rolled your eyes without bite, Lance’s pet names made your stomach flutter. Not that you’d say that out loud.

Lance was passed the plastic rings and was given the signal to begin. You leaned on a post behind him, eyes on the targets. The boy did have an uncanny aim, but all you’ve ever seen was him shooting hoops or tossing trash from across the room. This was different…. Different enough. 

Well, not enough it seemed, because barely a minute passed and Lance had gotten every hoop on every ring. You blinked. Lance turned to you with a shit-eating grin, one that was a bit endearing… at least until he did the stupid eyebrow thing. 

“Which one do you want?” He asked, face back to it’s usual wide smile and bright eyes. You jump up from your spot against the post and step closer, eyes darting from him to the line of stuffed plushes that dotted the walls of the booth. “Uh,” you said, eyes scanning the plushes as fast as they could. You spotted a big beige pug plush and grinned. “That one!”

The plush puppy was handed to Lance, and then passed to you. Briefly you thought of the little girl with the giant teddybear, because the thing was nearly as long as yourself and likely equally cumbersome to walk with. But it didn’t matter, really, because of the way Lance looked like a happy puppy that gotten all of his tricks right. The plush could be even bigger than him and you’d still haul it around proudly, you decided, arms tightening around the toy.

“Thank you,” You chirped happily as the two of you begin to walk away. Lance looked quite proud of himself, and draped his arm around your shoulders. Yes, statistically speaking most of these games had you losing money rather than winning prizes, but there was a certain pleasure and fuzzy tingly feeling in winning one from Lance. Screw it, cliches are cliches for a reason, you think.

You had gotten exactly four feet away from the booth when a man at the following booth spoke out. “Hey, she might actually hold your hand if you won her a cuter pooch!” He called out. You turned to look at him, then Lance, and immediately thought “uh oh.”

Lance stopped walking, foot in mid step, when he turned to face the source of the comment. That was a challenge you knew. And Lance, being well… Lance wouldn’t back down from a challenge. His impulse control was non existent when someone egged him on. You find yourself getting out a weak “But pugs are cute” to defend your plushes honor, but Lance was already riled up and ready to play. 

It was darts. Yeah, okay, time to scan the prize rack preemptively. 

“Ha! You’re on. I’m great at darts. Back home they called me bullseye!” Lance said, and you’re not entirely sure if he pulled that out of his ass or not. It didn’t matter, however, considering you had total faith in his (if mildly exaggerated) aim.

The first dart is thrown and you hear a popping noise when it meets the balloon target. The game host comments that he was lucky, in good nature, but you’re sure Lance was oblivious to that. Five consecutive pops later, you’ve got a small pink teddy bear in your hands (you’d have gone bigger but you didn’t have enough arms for that). 

You’re about to point out a food stand in the distance when the same host says “Beginner’s luck!” to Lance. Dear god, you think as Lance’s attention falls back on the game. The floodgates have opened!

Twelve games later, you’re arms are at max capacity with a crowd of plushes. Even Lance now has his arms full, only stopping to play when the poor host said he’ll give the next game for free if they leave and not rob him of all of the prizes. 

“I can’t see.” You grunted into a mouth full of polyester “fur”. Lance’s hand comes slowly near your face and pushes the mane of a blue lion out of your mouth. You manage to see a big, familiar smile through the small army in your arms. 

“Worth it!” Lance says, despite awkwardly shuffling to keep balance with most of the stuffed toys in his arms. You laugh softly, but stand unmoving. If Lance, the bean-pole of a guy who stood at 6 ft 1 could barely walk, you were sure your uncoordinated ass wasn’t gonna make it. So you stood there, a small frown forming. 

“Yeah… I can’t walk either. And neither can you.”

“I can--” Lance begins, only to attempt a step and nearly fall over. He recovers and coughs, standing back beside you. “Pretend that didn’t happen.” 

Luckily to your left was a bench. A good place to regroup and come up with a plan, you think, and point with your elbow in its direction. Thus began the slowest penguin waddle, but no stuffed animal was dropped or harmed in journey.

The plushes sat on the bench and you plopped beside Lance. “Still worth it,” He grins. It’s one of his more flirty looks, and you can feel your smile forming and cheeks heating despite trying to look stern and disapproving. Instead, you push him playfully and lean against him. Lance wraps his arms around you and gives you a small squeeze, but otherwise the embrace it short. It’s too fucking hot for anything longer. In the car, with the AC on however… 

You’re about to make a shameless comment when you notice, standing not too far away, is a little boy. His eyes were big and lips parted with an expression that can only be described as pure awe. In his hands was a small horse toy that he rubbed absently. Lance notices as well and the two of you exchange a knowing look.

“Hey there!” he says and jumps up, stuffed animals falling to fill his seat. “Is that yours? Do you like horses?” He asks, and motions at the toy. The boy nods, a bit shy, but quickly brightens up and walks to us at the mention of horses. “Yes!” He replies and his smile reveals gapped front teeth. 

You reach into the pile of stuffed animals and grab a plush horse. It was solid chocolate colored, unlike the dapple one the boy was holding, but by far a much better cuddle buddy than a plastic toy. Walking beside Lance, you kneel down and hold out the horse. “We have too many. Would you like this one?” You ask, and smile. Lance kneels beside you and says, “Look, they want to go home with you!” He turns the horse’s big plastic eyes to the kid for added effect. You doubt the kid needed much convincing, however. He took the horse into his arms and gave it a loving squeeze before running off to his parents, who had been watching the exchange several feet away. 

Neither of you needed to speak, because the solution to the army of plushes was already turning the gears in your heads. 

…

You kept the big pug and the blue lion, because those were your favorites. One of the children you passed wanted the lion, but luckily Lance noticed your hesitation and swooped in with a pink lion instead. You mouthed a “thank you” at him before another child ran up wanting a plush. 

You thanked him properly in the car, AC blasting, and the pug and lion’s heads turned away to protect their modesty.


End file.
